


Theme and Variation

by Bananas45



Category: B: The Beginning (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Classical Music, Going for Intellectual and missed the mark, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games, Pining, Pretentious amounts of music, Sexual Tension, Violence, lot's of music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananas45/pseuds/Bananas45
Summary: Paganini made a pact with the devil to play as good as he did, or so it was said. It’s probably not true.But when has any story been entirely false.





	Theme and Variation

**Author's Note:**

> I was going for 'Smart' I think it ended up confused. To be fair...I had the whole thing really well planned and then dislocated my thumb and forget all the subtle nuances AND my jobs really hard so my grammar is terrible from lack of sleep...So when you stop reading and go 'what' - yes. It's artistically ambiguous...  
> *EXCUSES I N T E N S I F Y*  
> No but honestly, I don't quite know what I was going for here...At points I think I may have just written 7000 words for the sole purpose of making people listen to Paganini...I mean it's mental. he was insane. 
> 
> This Fic is trash. Listen to Caprice number 4. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Do you remember the first time you killed?”  
They’re on Keith’s balcony, Koku perched on the railing, hands on his lap and a three story fall to his back. It makes Keith a little nervous even though Koku will not fall and even if he did, he’d survive it. Koku’s fingers twitch a little. His left hand fingers running imaginary scales on the soundboard of his thumb. His nose curls.  
“Yeah”  
The sun is setting on them, painting the balcony in dying light. The wind is brisk, a little too cold to be comfortable and Koku pulls the sleeves down on the jumper he is in. It’s an old one, he got it years back and it’s never quite fitted but he wears it nonetheless, It’s an item he’s decided to call his own.  
“Tell me” Keith says softly. The wind rustles his hair, not soft and romantically like it would Koku’s, the wind blows it all out of order, the cold makes his nose tingle and the hairs stand on his arms, he feels vertigo just leaning on the balcony, farless hanging off it.  
It’s for that reason and maybe so many more that Koku just laughs, soft and gentle, eyebrows drawn together pensive and unresponsive.  
“No...It’s not a story I’d want to tell” Koku closes his eyes.  
“Indulge me” Keith says and suddenly he’s closer, where his hand holds the metal, Koku’s thigh almost brushes, where the sun cuts the balcony in half, Keith stands at the precipice, the tip off his bare foot brushes the sharp, shadow cut line between the light and the dark under the cold stone.  
Koku shoves his hands in his sweatpants like it’s the easiest, most naturally thing to do. His balance doesn’t waver. He shrugs carelessly and Keith almost wants to steady him, there is obviously no need.  
He wants to reach out, Keith does, slide the perfect away, crumple and unravel it. Like dragging your hands through satin. Koku remains distant, filled with palpable want but unable to be anything but the self proclaimed saviour. Just who he thinks he’s saving, Keith’s unsure. Those perfectly imperfect eyes match Keith’s. Koku swallows and balances words on his tongue like he’s sorting through them.  
“It’s not a story you’d want to hear” he says but it’s harsher, it’s colder. Koku doesn’t play the innocent boy with him like he does with the others, he doesn’t play the doting knight. On a good day, Keith admits, Koku is barely bearable.  
“But I want to get to know-” Koku jumps off the balcony with a barely concealed hiss of anger as Keith speaks. “To get to know you. You, Koku, not whatever you’re trying to be”  
He presses a finger into the soft material, straight through onto Koku’s sternum.  
“You”  
Koku holds his gaze, head tilted up just a little as they stand caught in silhouette of the city. Their long drawn out shadows misshapen against the wall pull and distort Keith’s fingers in the expanse between them, like strings between Keith’s chest and Koku’s.  
Koku wants that. Keith can tell by the way his chest expands to the touch, the way something flickers in his eyes, the way his shoulders fall just a little with the exhale of shock at the confession. There is desire there, burning just under the surface and it’s not just a desire to be understood, to understand. Keith wonders vaguely if Koku genuinely wants to be loved.  
He is though.  
Koku doesn’t see it mirrored in Keith, he just stares and looks away, as if he’s pained, like there is a lot he wants to say but can’t find the words for. His features, usually so serene distort like the shadow behind them. He looks ill.  
“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me, Keith”  
He pushes the hand off. 

 

He’d never felt cold like it. He remembers the numbness in his fingers and his toes. The ice that had frozen strands of his hair together. His hands hand gone a strange, yellowed white colour, impossible to move. He’d been too unnerving looking to be sympathised with and people had been too busy to deal with a boy, barely a teen, clawing his way down streets of bustling winter shoppers, wrapped up in their clothes. His shirt had been linen, he remembers how the wind had ripped through it, blowing virgin snow into his face as he gasped on air that snaked its way to his throat and made it ache. He’d seen himself in a shop window, bloodied and blue lipped.  
It had been so cold, he’d forgotten what it was like to be warm. Worse, there was a part of him that couldn’t be bothered to be warm, a part of him that was just so tired. So tired and so traumatised. There was a name on his lips, that for days had kept him warm. There was a fear in his bones, that for days had made him relieved for the cold, the idea of anything close to the burning in that place just unnerving him too much.  
But those feelings had passed, burning relief for his survival turning to ash in his mouth as the guilt set in. Hunger - for anything, revenge, death, a house, maybe even just a hand on his shoulder, arms around him or some hot chocolate. He’d smiled at that, let it pull at his lips even if it hurt, even if it cracked the cracking skin. It sent a spark of something up to his brain. It was a sensentation at least, if all else was freezing over. 

That’s the type of cold you don’t forget, even when you force yourself too. 

Koku pulls the blanket round himself tighter.  
“Just steal the whole thing” Keith mumbles as they sit. Keith’s reading a book, old and worn, like he’s re-read it a million times, the cheap cover peeling. Koku marks an upbow on the oversized, tea stained, copy of Paganini's Caprices. He ignores him.  
“Are you going to actually play those?” Keith asks, placing the book on the table. “All 24?”  
Koku looks up. “I’ve played most already”  
Keith raises an eyebrow “I don’t like them”  
Koku chuckles. “They’re not meant to be liked, they’re exercises. They break the best”  
“They’re mildly unnerving” Keith says and lifts a copy of one, over marked with bowing instruction. They’re badly sellotaped together, the shine off it in stark contrast to the yellow, cow skin soft paper. “Being a god probably helps in playing ungodly difficult music?”  
Koku smiles, just the hint of a blush on his high cheekbones.  
“No...I, uh, I play them terribly” He rubs an arm. “It’s why I mark up the copies so much. I sometimes forget the fingering” His hands seem to do it subconsciously beside them as he leans over the one Keith has, his eyes flicker of the notes. They’re close, Keith notes, he can feel Koku’s heat as the boy stares at the page. “Oh- I still can’t play that one. Although it’s my favourite”  
“Can’t or won't?”  
Their eyes lock.  
Keith looks at him, features remarkably soft, full of sympathy and warmed with understanding. Koku’s smile, the one that makes his cheeks shine and his eyes light up, fades.  
“What?”  
“Tell me about the first time you killed”  
The bitterness spreads across the boys face until he’s tense again, eyes fluttering as he looks down. The pencil behind his ear falls into his lap in the most painfully human way.  
“Forget it” he snaps and pulls the papers back in a flurry, as though opening up this way was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. 

 

Round the back off the hotel the snow had been melted in one spot. Beside a vent that puffed out warm air, he’d sat and tried to blink without feeling the drag off his own cold eyelids. His cheeks had been warmed by his tears that night but his sleep had been sound. The dreams warded off by the sound of the fan. It hadn’t lasted long though.

 

“It was a month after the fire”  
Keith almost slices his own thumb off when Koku speaks behind him, almost into his ear. He hadn’t heard the boy at all. He turns, braced against his own kitchen counter, he struggles with the intensity of the look in Koku’s eyes.  
“You wanted to know didn’t you”  
Keith swallows, readjusts himself a little, foot crossing the other as his fingers grip the the stone counter.  
“I was scared” Koku says. “And alone” He meets Keith’s gaze with an odd look in his eye, as if he’s daring Keith to defy him, dares him to question it. It’s aggressively pushed sympathy. Keith blinks, almost wants to reassure but he won’t because he needs to know. He needs to know. “And stealing, laying low - and I’m not proud of that - there was a reggie who found me...I didn’t know it at the time but I let him take me home” Koku closes his eyes and takes a breath. “He tried to kill me, thought I was just a homeless kid...I was just defending myself. I wasn’t his first and wouldn’t have been his last”  
“The first time” Keith says slowly. “You were defending yourself the first time”  
Koku’s smile is bitter and wry. “Yeah, the first time”  
Keith winces. Disappointment spread over his face like he’s been splashed with it. 

Koku winces too, he’s done a move wrong somewhere here. He hates losing games. 

 

“Do you remember the first time you killed?”  
Koku spins on his heel.  
“Why’d you want to know” He puts down the shopping carefully. Keith watches him as he puts down the bag like he’s defusing a bomb.  
“In criminology” Keith clears his throat. “A killer's first kill is always hard to trace...They usually don’t have a style, there is always a crime missed, a link that doesn’t fit. I guess I want to solve your puzzle Koku”  
Koku’s jaw tightens.  
“How very endearing off you, detective” he says softly, hands braced on the table he shakes his head. “I can’t remember.”  
“Off course you can” Keith says, he sounds almost cheery but inconvenienced. Koku’s eye twitches. Keith doesn’t fail to notice that.  
Keith moves past him, gives him just the briefest brush of his shoulder as he pulls some shopping out the bag over him. He pulls out a cereal box.  
“Maybe I’m just interested Koku-”  
Koku spins, hand on Keith’s wrist like a vice, eyes so blank, so cold. The shock makes Keith jump a little, breath forced out of him as Koku holds his gaze, the anger and triumph, the irritation that mingled under that murky sea water making Keith’s heart thunder against his chest. A pit of fear, coiled deep in his gut as he realises he’s pushing a serial killer, pushing buttons he doesn’t know which floor’ll take him to.  
“Let me get that for you” Koku’s voice is barely a whisper as he takes the box out Keith’s hand. 

It had been so cold he wanted to - No, that’s not true. The cold didn’t really affect him much, he’d remembered seeing others, shuddering and shivering in the winter storms. He’d walked barefoot, so light he barely left a track, as he’d swum, unnoticed through crowds of people. He’d barely slept that first month, barely eaten. He’d just walked, eyes slightly glazed and intention unsure. Every snap of a twig, every too loud voice, had made him jump, forced him out his trance world and into reality like being hit by a train.  
It had been that, not that he’s proud, that had caused this mess.  
He’d usually have had more control but he was young and scared and alone - that was true, he really was. He’d been so scared. He had wanted someone. He just hadn’t quite known. 

No. That doesn’t sound right. 

It’s the rising thirds he’s having so much trouble with, or it’s the tempo, or it might be the octaves- he’s got surprisingly small fingers. There are a thousand different reasons why Koku just loathes trying to play this piece. It’s probably because it’s never going to sound as nice as it does in his head. He’s tried without the slurs, he’s plucked all the scales, he’s practised this for years now but even on the world’s best violin he’s not making this sound good but Keith has thrown the gauntlet down and it’s not like he’s got anything better to do.  
He’s trying hard, really going for it and he’s getting surprisingly far - hell, it doesn’t sound good but his fingers are in the right place and he’s bowing it at least. Fuck Keith for making him do this anyway. Neither of them willing to let go either. At least he’s relatively close to the end but he’s scratching the strings and has lost too many bow hairs-  
“My neighbours will think you’re killing cats in here” Keith practically throws himself through the front door and Koku has a split second to hide his violin under his arm, as if he’d only just picked it up. He’s doesn’t really want to know how flushed his cheeks are.  
“You’re learning that for me?” Keith teases as he drops his keys on the desk.  
“I- Uh - just started practising...I saw they were out and I remembered our conversation - but it wasn’t like I was playing it for you - you reminded me of it - YOu, specifically, don’t remind me of it, I was playing it because you reminded me to play it not because you remind me off it”  
“So you’ve calmed down a little” Keith comments and then leans on a chair, glasses perched in his hair, hand scratching his scruff “You know, we are living together, you can be yourself-”  
“Stop saying that” Koku snaps “ ‘be myself’ what does that even mean, Keith?” He tries those thirds on the fingerboard, if only to give his hands something to do. “Your little mind games confuse me-”  
“Oh you’re one to talk, lecturing me on mind games” Keith’s laugh his wispish, incredulous and Koku’s eyes sharpen, quite literally, as they stare at him.  
They both jump a little when Koku’s A string snaps.  
“Are you serious?” Koku’s tone is that awful, emotionless one. Reminds Keith of a rooftop encounter, heart beat up his throat and throat closed with fear as he faced a creature from his past that was nought more than a boy.  
Keith throws his arms up “I don’t wanna fight you” he mumbles. “It’s tiring, I...I’m tired and you’re difficult, Koku. All I’m saying is you can play pagnini when I’m in the house and I won't care that it sounds terrible. Some things are terrible, they get better with time but you’ll still probably look back and cringe but one day you’ll play that caprice and think, wow, Keith’s gonna be impressed that I played that so well-”  
It’s overwhelmingly frustrating because this is very clearly not about Pagnini. It’s so frustrating he finds himself crowding Keith against the bunker before he can help it, arm twitching frantically as it wants to just get this over with, it’s this odd sick feeling in his chest, gnawing at him like a disease, the voice that whispers how it would be a hundred times easier to just kill Keith now and be done with it. What is the point of the bond they share? where do they even stand with each other? this whole ‘friendship’ thing is just difficult when you’ve gone through everything alone. Keith has had it so easy, breezed through university with a best friend and healthy career. What’s Koku had, except god like powers and an ability to go anywhere and do anything he pleases. Oh.  
How have they both gone so wrong.  
Quite how what was meant to be threatening turns so pathetic, he has no idea but suddenly he’s ducked his head into the crook of Keith’s neck, arms clung desperately tight on the man, like he’ll fall over if he lets go.  
“You want to know?” He whispers and looks up, curled into Keith’s chest where Keith stares, still in shock, both them practically panting from it because they’d never been this close, never fully touched, never fully given a name or a place to the desire they were feeling. “I was a fucking idiot, I turned on a mugger who saw me after he’d robbed a woman. He asked if I was okay and I stabbed him through the chest, took the wallet and left” 

He remembers the blood, he’d been so shocked just how hot it was, he remembers shaking hard, taking the money, he remembers it lasted him a while, he’d been able to get himself stable after that. 

He hides his face in the crook of Keith’s neck and ignores the desire that pulses through him. Keith must feel relieved to know the truth that he’s been so desperately seeking for whatever reason.  
Keith just holds his shoulders, pulls him back and looks into his eyes expectantly- no not expectant, just resigned. As though he knows the outcome before Koku does.  
“Y’know Koku. Honesty goes a long way” 

Fuck. 

It’s actually doable. Koku is sure he can get this right. It’s just much easier to pretend it’s not happening.  
Those octave leaps, are tough and he’s calloused his fingers trying.  
How proud Keith would be is a stupid reason to jeopardize everything.  
He probably wouldn’t even like it.  
Everyone likes 24. 

 

He’d never felt cold like it. He remembers the numbness in his fingers and his toes. The ice that had frozen strands of his hair together. His hands hand gone a strange, yellowed white colour, impossible to move but there was strength in them again. He’d been too unnerving looking to be sympathised with and people had been too busy to deal with a boy, barely a teen, clawing his way down streets of bustling winter shoppers, wrapped up in their clothes. His shirt had been linen, he remembers how the wind had ripped through it, blowing virgin snow into his face as he gasped on air that snaked its way to his throat and made it ache. He’d seen himself in a shop window, bloodied and blue lipped. Though with the clearness of hindsight he realises that blood may not have been his own. 

It’s a well known fact when practising an instrument, the more you delay the worse you get. Your fingers forget what they were doing. You’ll be sloppier. Koku had forgotten how hard it was. 

Had he been as cold as that? yes, he’d been freezing. He’d be starving. What eased it. He was justified in everything that he’d done that night. 

Pagnini made a pact with the devil to play as good as he did, or so it was said. It’s probably not true.

But when has any story been entirely false. 

And that’s the kicker. Was Koku lying, well, no. He was cold, he was freezing. He wasn’t a god back then, he was barely anything. 

And really, Can Keith expect him to sight caprices on the spot?  
The man has insane expectation. 

 

“Bravo” Keith says, from where he’s looking through a report. Koku puts the bow down.  
“It’s actually a very nice piece-”  
“Once you get a good violinist.”  
“Once you get a good violin” Koku says with a shy smile, he’s buzzing actually. It’s not just for Keith this, it’s mildly personal. He’s always loved the piece, being able to play it makes his fingers itch.  
Keith clicks his tongue “A good workman always claims it’s his tools-”  
“I really don’t think that’s how that phrase goes” Koku chuckles as he loosens the bow hair, rolling up the sleeve on his shirt that had fallen down from the ferocity of his playing. “I was sort of worried, playing on a new string-” He plucks the A “It’s always temperamental”  
Keith looks up.  
“When did you break a string?”  
Koku tilts his head and hides how his guilt creeps up his back “Few days back”  
Keith takes a deep breath. “It’s quite hard on the ears if I’m honest”  
Koku snorts “You wanted to hear it”  
“It’s impressive” Keith keeps his eyes on the report. It’s almost as old looking as Koku’s score, actually no, it’s just weathered and damp looking, like it’s been pulled out from the depth of some disgusting old box. “Just not nice”  
“It’s quite nice” Koku shrugs, swaying on his heels. “It’s meant to be for learning, If I now played some mozart you’d notice what a god-tier violinist I am” He laughs, oddly nervous, oddly child-like. He rubs his arm as Keith barely answers.  
“Something so horrible it makes the rest look tame” Keith mumbles, mostly to himself.  
It makes some sixth sense in Koku uneasy. He does suddenly feel sort of stupid, suddenly unsure why he put so much time and effort into learning a piece of music for Keith Flick of all people who Koku isn’t sure actually listened to half the piece itself. A clawing and foreign sense of self conscious embarrassment sneaks into Koku’s cheeks.  
Keith would probably say some pseudo-intellectual comment about how it was for Koku himself, not for Keith and It would all be bathed in intrigue and mystery and Koku would miss half the nuance.  
Keith is looking just as uneasy as Koku now.  
The silence stretches between them, sharper now because of the lack of music. Koku had been playing, not for a client or to check the tuning on a brand new instrument, he’d been playing for Keith.  
Even if the air is chill, the balcony window open even if it’s barely spring, it still feels oppressive in the room. The light quality is tragic, the day is overcast, the sky almost liliac from it’s heavy clouds and sun kissed on top of the canopy. It paints them both in almost grey light, accentuates Koku’s high cheekbones and effeminate features, large eyed and wary, hair pulled out his face into a ponytail that struggles to keep itself up. Keith wants to laugh, it’s because Koku is so cat-like, he’s feeling uneasy so his hair rises, like a threatened kitten who’s puffed up it’s back.  
“You did this” He says softly.  
Koku doesn’t say anything, he’s perfectly still, barely breathing. Actually it’s quite unnerving.  
“Didn’t you” Keith’s voice is still soft but he won’t lie, he is nervous, Koku is a creature if he’s ever seen one and just because he’s friendly doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Koku says, the violin hangs in between his index and middle finger and he’s staring at Keith, practically begging ‘don’t do this, please don’t do this’  
“It, uh, didn’t follow the same pattern, so it wasn’t technically Killer B’s first murder” Keith flicks through the file and laughs, even if it’s pained “I’ll be honest, it took me a while to realise as well”  
Koku blinks, inhumanely slowly.  
“The body was so disfigured they never found out who it was” Keith flings his hand over the paper, surprisingly calmly and lifts an eyebrow at Koku. Mute the sound and Keith couldn’t have been showing him his tax returns. “Did you...know about that?”  
Koku takes a breath.  
“Yeah I knew” He says, watching Keith.  
“Why?” Keith asks, they’re practically whispering now.  
Koku shrugs.  
“God damn it Koku!” Keith hand slams on the table enough to make Koku genuinely tremble, flinching like he’s just been woken “This isn’t justice here” He taps the file “This is slaughter”  
“I know” Koku says. Keith laughs, sharp and blunt. His hands dig into his hair as he drops his head in despair.  
“Oh come on Keith, what do you want me to say?” Koku laughs too, genuinely lighthearted.  
“You don’t get it...do you? Why can’t you get this in your head.” He sounds angry and it makes Koku step back, he can’t think of the last time someone had been angry at him. “You are not infallible”  
“I was young and scared...” Koku says, eyes closing “I know it was wrong” He’s practically pleading. Keith positively growls.  
“No you didn’t, no you don’t. Stop it. Koku, I’m watching you lie right now. Don’t affect sympathy on me, it’s offensive to my intellect” Keith snarls.  
It’s been brewing for a while, maybe too a long, a full argument between the two of them in between the politeness and quiet temperaments.  
“What do you hope to gain?” Koku steps forward. “I’ve done everything you wanted, I’m trying to hard! And you knew all along...Months now? Lied to me all those times before. What were you expecting me to say?!”  
Keith blinks and Koku curses his complete lack of self control.  
“Oh. Is this not the first I’ve brought this up?” He asks, steps forward. Koku steps back, eyes fluttering like he’s fighting back tears.  
“I-it wasn’t like that...”  
“Was I too abrasive?” Keith grabs his shoulder. “Or not abrasive enough?”  
“You didn’t buy it” Koku snarls. “If I’d known it was because you knew the truth then-”  
“You’re blaming me?” Keith can’t quite believe it.  
“And you made me learn that caprice-” Koku sounds betrayed.  
“It’s got nothing to do with the fucking caprice!” Keith barks.  
“It has everything to do with the fucking caprice!” Koku shrieks. 

“Shit kid I thought you were dead”  
He’d tried to rob the man but he’d gotten away. Koku’s inhibition had been too high and the helpless screams had made him ill feeling. It had been desperation that made him reach out, still on his hands and knees, scorching blade piercing through the snow and straight into the back of the man’s neck. It hadn’t been deep enough, Koku had wished it had been, but again he’d hesitated. The man had convulsed, paralysed but alive, gaping like a fish as he squirmed on the ground. It had been mesmerizing, Koku has to admit but his eyes had held so much fear, so much despair. Koku used his fingers, at first just to cover them, make it easier to end his life without having to face the man he was killing. Stabbing him straight through the head had seemed insensitive. He hadn’t screamed, just mewled and squealed, almost inhumane sounding when KOku’s fingers began to press too hard. The socket had been warm at least, once the eye was out and Koku had realised just how cold he was and if the eye was that warm, gods knows what the rest was like. 

“How many stab wounds?” Keith grips his jaw, fueled by all that’s good and right and just in this world.  
“You read the report” Koku says, unable to stop from smiling at how ridiculous this is.  
“You think this is funny?” Keith says, shocked.  
“I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember” Koku barks, pushes back and has to grab keith’s jumper to stop the momentum carrying him straight through the table. “I didn’t want you knowing because I wanted to be...”  
“Perfect for me?” Keith snarls and it hits home, square into Koku’s chest as the boy looks terrified, horrified and embarrassed as he shakes his head. “Is that it? So you hid what you thought I’d find ugly. Because I totally bought your revenge shtick didn’t I?” He snarls. “You think I wasn’t horrified by you already?”  
Koku flinches at that, looks like he’s taken a hit before he turns on Keith.  
“You know what I do find funny?” He hisses, breath splaying over Keith’s face in a warm, vindictive cloud. “How you have all these people who care so much about you and the only ones you give a damn about are all the serial killers-”  
Keith slaps him.  
Hard across the cheek.  
The worst part is that Koku is clearly unaffected, it probably barely hurt him but there is something in his eyes, even if it’s not physical.  
“Fuck you” Keith says, oddly breathless.  
“I’m sorry...” Koku mumbles.  
Silence stretches between them. Keith sniffs.  
“No you’re not”  
In the dying, ink blot light, the shadows creeping into the unlit flat, the flash from Koku’s arm, the heat off the blade, seems divine.  
“Why can’t you ever just believe me” Koku says, blade pointed. Keith can feel the heat from it even here, can almost taste the danger. He’s pushed too much, that much is evident. Telling someone who thinks they’re good that they’re not is harder than telling someone who’s bad that they’re evil.  
Actually, In some ways he misses Gilbert.  
Gilbert would have embraced this situation wholeheartedly. Just by Keith confronting him would have meant he’d won the game.  
But Koku’s much more tactile, much more nervous, much more desperate to prove himself as like Keith and not the complete opposite.  
Maybe something about this threat feels exciting. Alive in a way it didn’t with Gilbert, years of things bubbling under the surface, of cryptic half truths, of games that end in nothing but more games. Keith had wanted to scream at Gilbert that he knew the truth so many times and couldn’t bring himself to ruin the game. Gilbert enjoyed tactics. Koku enjoys winning. Maybe Keith’s need for danger had calcified over the years. Maybe Koku was addictively different.  
Koku is angry, wild like an animal and just as unhinged. There is no game here, Koku just wants and wants and wants.  
“Here” Koku says with a slight uncanny cruelty to his voice. He presses the tip of the blade into Keith’s chest, it burns instantly through to the skin. “And here” Koku’s eyes are haughty, deep and liquid in the evening light, like a cat that’s playing with an injured mouse. He doesn’t stop, until Keith’s shirt is practically in tatters and his skin is tingling from the almost cuts. He tries not to think of his poor cortisol levels. Koku holds the blade to his throat.  
“I can’t remember if I slit his throat”  
Keith feels the heat, sizzling just beside the bare skin of his neck, his fingers tense, his whole body so alert, so, so ready for the pain.  
“Did I, Keith?” He snaps and it’s like a slap in and of itself, It shatters the silence that had settled like a terrified lethargy over Keith’s limbs.  
“No, You didn’t” Keith murmurs.  
“What did I do?” Koku asks, quiet again. Keith thinks Koku is trying to teach him a lesson, to understand that this isn’t a fair game, it’s not problems layed out for the other to solve and no part of Koku appreciates being investigated. Under that though there is discernible betrayal, as though the thought of Keith going behind his back had just never crossed his mind. There is something beautiful about how innocent Koku is. Even if it’s masked under layers of bravado and cruelty, under layers of faux tendered good will and intention.  
“The report says-”  
Koku slams a hand against into the wall beside them and watches with barely hidden surprise and delight as Keith’s breath hitches in shock.  
“Not what the report says-” Their noses practically touch “What I did. I wouldn’t want you dissociating this from me, detective” It’s bitterly sarcastic, Koku’s eyebrow twitches around a smirk that doesn’t suit his face “After all, you’ve gone to such lengths to remind me of it.”  
Keith swallows, tilts his head back a little to avoid Koku’s gentle features, staring at him with that same look in his eyes as from before ‘please don’t do this’. There is still a need to impress, still a want to get Keith on his side again. Maybe he’s scared of losing everything he’s built with Keith.  
Its funny, considering there is a high percentage chance Keith wont remember the night at all.  
That makes him feel oddly sick, under the toxic excitement and the fear, the idea of just how much control Koku has over him, even if the boy seems reluctant to exercise it. Though he wouldn’t know, would he.  
“You killed him. That’s all I wanted to know-”  
“You started this!” Koku shouts and Keith’s head whips just a little to the side as Koku nicks his neck. “Don’t-” He stares, voice lost into the night air. “I cut you” He says softly  
There is something ridiculously shocked in Koku’s voice, as though he thought he wasn’t capable of such feats when they’re talking about the time he dismembered a man in a back alley.  
“Don’t sound so surprised” Keith keeps his voice surprisingly even, even considering how painful it had been. Koku just stares and Keith feels the air buzz, practically ring around them as they stare each other down. It’s Keith’s fault they’re here, sure but Koku? Jesus that boy is a conundrum. He looks lost. Horrified with himself. “Your capacity for self deception is incredible. How do you do that?” Keith asks, tilting his head even if it makes the side of his neck ache. Koku almost snarls.  
A police car passes, bathes them both in a blues and reds and in the space between the colour and the sound Koku launches.  
His hand grips Keith’s head, thumb under his ear and four fingers splayed through his hair as he wrenches his chin up. Keith’s hands only just get purchase in the cotton of Koku’s shirt before the electric shock of Koku’s warm heavy tongue dipping into his collar, dragging with pressure up and into the wound, gathering the blood in the dip of his tongue. Keith’s eyes can just about see the way Koku’s throat works as he swallows it before they flutter shut as Koku laps away like a fucking kitten. His nose drags along Keith’s jaw almost reverently.  
“Enjoy that-”  
Koku slaps him hard, much harder than he hit Koku, though whether Koku knows that he’s less sure. It’s most definitely going to bruise.  
“Just shut up” He mutters “Shut up. Why are you like this?” Koku gasps and Keith watches the trickle of blood down his chin. “You just couldn’t let it go”  
“You wanted me to know” Keith says, swipes the blood away with his thumb but cradles Koku’s chin with it. Even as both of Koku’s hands dig into his hair like he’s a lifeline. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want to let me into your life. Do you think I would have managed it if you’d lie to me?”  
Koku goes quiet.  
“What?” Keith asks, surprisingly impulsive. His eyes dart to Koku’s mouth to the dots of red still on his teeth, to the feeling of the cold air against his wet neck. “Afraid I’ll come along and tip your little apple cart?” The desire between them is viscous now. It surrounds and drowns them, with pretense stripped and feelings bared the two of them must look a pair. Koku’s lips just touch Keith’s chin, his teeth just biting softly, almost threatening. The look in his eyes is almost beautiful, Keith thinks.  
“Maybe I want it tipped” Koku admits, even if it sounds venomous to them both.  
He kisses like he fights, until Keith’s lips are red raw and his tongue aches. His hands are everywhere, pulling and pushing like he can’t quite decide what he wants. He lets out a growl and with barely half an ounce of energy, using his index finger alone, rips open Keith’s shirt.  
The scatter of the buttons makes Keith’s skin crawl. Little things have always put him off sex, like just how pointless the whole act feels, how sickeningly empty you’ll probably feel afterwards.  
Koku burns through inhibition like a fire in a paper factory and Keith can’t deny just how much he wants this.  
Every ounce, every moment, every half gaze, every tilt of his head makes Keith entranced.  
It’s definitely different.  
“You’re staring” Koku says, grin curling his top lip and pushes Keith, with the slightest push from the tip of his fingers directly onto his table. He barely hears the glasses smash and the cutlery clatter as Koku crawls over him like some jungle cat, forces him back on his elbows as Koku brings there lips together again, softer but no less intense, finger nails dragging through Keith’s hair as he licks across his lips and teeth with a ferocity Keith barely manages to match. His hand gingerly slides along Koku’s side, barely able to balance on the wood.  
Koku sits back instantly, balanced on his knees either side of Keith’s hips, weight balanced on Keith’s raised thighs - not that he weighs anything - cheeks flushed and hair caught in his mouth as he smiles.  
“Staring and touching. I don’t think I said you were allowed both” He swipes a tongue over his lips, fingers undoing the buttons of his own shirt with inhumane grace. It sends a shiver up Keith’s spine, this is no human, this some nocturnal animal, some fever dream of perfection Keith shouldn’t be allowing himself to have. It pushes at his chest, just how amazing this is, even if his head screams how this just encourages Koku’s already worrying god complex.  
Keith finds himself speechless for the first time in a while as Koku drops the shirt of his shoulders, all long lines and beautifully sculpted muscle. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Koku shirtless before. It’s just he’s never seen Koku shirtless and not marred with an unholy amount of injury.  
This is virgin skin. 

Just like the snow underfoot when he’d walked away, whole body finally warm. Nothing wrong with that. He’d been surprised just how alive he’d remained, even holding his heart, feeling beat around his chilled fingers, in between the rattling, convulsing lungs and wired in like a shockingly badly managed socket. 

“You know I prized his chest open with my fingers” Koku says, easy and light hearted as he spreads his hands across Keith’s chest. Keith bucks a little, lip bitten.  
“Koku-”  
“You wanted to know” He laughs. “It was just here” He runs the tips of his fingers over Keith’s sternum. “It doesn’t take much to -”  
Keith grabs his hands, tight and warm, large and so here, so present that it shocks Koku a little. It makes his whole body tingle.  
“It’s okay to regret it” He says. “We all make mistakes. You’re not as ruthless as you pretend to be”  
He runs a hand into Koku’s hair and feels it begin to lie flat against his palm, he rubs softly. It’s almost enough to make him cry. Almost.  
“But you’re not as good as you pretend to be either”  
Koku’s eyes flutter and he sways a little before he leans down, practically throws himself down till his chest is flush with Keith’s, hips locked and mouths trailing patterns over each other. Keith bites softly at Koku’s earlobe and the boy moans hard, nails dragging up Keith’s side as he pushes up on one arm. He’s saying words, murmuring against Keith’s lips as he trails hands and teeth as hot as the blade’s he carries in him over skin that takes it like a starved man.  
Keith never realised just how much he could want something like this.  
They bite and mark at eachother, even if everyone of Keith’s fade within seconds and everyone of Koku’s break the skin.  
Koku grabs his chin, looking down at him, almost haughty looking straddled across Keith on his knees.  
“You know if I wanted to, I could make you forget tonight”  
Keith swallows, he won’t lie, he was thinking about it too.  
“Is it strange?” Koku asks, other hand making incredibly fast work on Keith’s pants, freeing his cock and gripping it almost just a little too hard, hard enough that he tenses, jaw clenched as he keeps Koku’s gaze. “To be made of memory, of intellect” Koku barely seems to be teasing anymore, his gaze his terrifyingly soft. “And fall for the only person who could possibly take that away from you” Koku’s eyes seem to lighten with some kind of understanding, even as Keith swallows, whole body tingling from something awfully close to fear. He grins, as though he’s shaken himself from whatever trance he was in, he slides down Keith’s body. His hand grazing briefly over Keith’s hammering heart.  
The boy can probably smell his fear though.  
“I could make you forget everything”  
Koku seems to be saying it more to himself. Keith has to wonder if this is the first time Koku has truly realised the extent of that power.  
He takes that moment to sink down onto Keith, completely dry and completely unprepared.  
“Koku!-” He grits his teeth, because it’s hot and completely fuckable but, jesus christ, could the boy not give anything just a moment.  
He grins, even if it’s shaky, because that would have hurt anyone, god or no god but shifts his hips as he tilts his head back.  
“You’re an idiot” Keith manages, barely, between frantic breaths and resisting the urge to push up further. Koku tilts his head back and whether he means for it to look as whorish as it does Keith is unsure but he’s moving now and it’s almost agony just how perfect it is.  
Just how perfect Koku is.  
One hand splayed across Keith’s stomach as the other braces on the table under him, he makes a show of riding Keith raw. Keith’s hand reaches out, to touch any part of the monster on top of him but Koku bats his hand off with the slyest little smile as he speeds up.  
It makes Keith growl, buck up harder than he would normally. Koku can take it. Koku could probably take anything Keith could do it him now and throw it back in his faces ten times as seriously.  
Why that is so appealing, Keith has no idea.  
Maybe because he’s had control his whole life. Even without meaning to he’s always been one step ahead, always seen exactly what’s coming, even if what’s ahead usually bores him but Koku is frighteningly unlike anything he’s experienced. Blissfully arrogant in the most divine way.  
Maybe he’s addicted. Addicted to poking the bees nest that is Koku’s delicate ideals of right and wrong. It’s probably dangerous. The boy tightrope betweens unstable and barely sane and it’s not as though Keith wants him to have some kind of breakdown, he just thinks the boy needs a wake.  
He hadn’t really expected the night to end this way. Or maybe he did. He really may have. It wasn’t like he didn’t know.  
Koku writhes on top of him, grinds down and keeps Keith ridiculously still under him with the strength in his arm.  
Keith doesn’t want to say that he feels used - or that he’s enjoying it - but that is what’s happening right now. Koku takes and takes until with a look of pure, unadulterated need in his eyes he leans over Keith, elbows on the table as he shifts his weight backwards, forcing Keith deeper inside him as he brushes their noses together.  
“You can touch me” He whispers, voice tender if not rattled, as though every one of their combined is too much for his small body. Even though it can’t possibly be.  
“Touching and staring at once?” Keith teases, trails fingers over the muscles in his back. “You’re too kind”  
Koku smiles, laughs a little breathlessly and flushes as though bashful.  
“Well you wanted to know me” Koku’s voice wavers more, his eyes falling shut as he bites his lip, disarmed by Keith’s touch. “What do you think?”  
Levelling the playing field is surprisingly easy. Koku looks so vulnerable.  
“I think you know about as much about yourself as I do” Keith says and ignores how Koku tenses even if his hips seem to speed up, emboldened to prove Keith wrong. Keith sits up instead, pushes up on his elbow and lets Koku wrap both hands around his neck. When they kiss again it’s dangerously intimate, Koku breathes into his mouth as he mumbles like a bad porn star about how close he is.  
Keith struggles to match the boy in his arms, clinging fiercely to him, to the creature that threw him across his dining table and cut his neck open. The boy who played Pagnini for him with the monster in the case files he reads.  
The amount of control he seems to wield over the God’s is scary too as Koku murmurs something too close to I love you in his shoulder and slumps forward panting and shaking, heart racing and skin hot.  
Koku grabs his face hard and looks into his eyes with a burning intensity.  
“Don’t ever go behind my back again” He gasps.  
Keith pants too, skin cooling and dizziness easing, a thought strikes him.  
“Are you going to make me forget?”  
Koku shakes his head and closes his eyes, eyebrows knit like he’s angry at Keith - or himself.  
“Not this time” He laughs.  
Keith cringes, because as nonchalant as Koku - beautiful, misguided, kind-hearted, brutal, Koku - can be about his casual mind control powers, they make Keith profoundly nervous.  
The boys words ring in his head. How he’s nothing but intellect and he’s living in under the same roof as the only creature on the planet able to truly take that from him but why, after everything he’s been shown tonight, he somehow still trusts Koku. He has no idea.  
The boy grins, sweet and angelic.  
“No point teaching a lesson if you make your student forget”

**Author's Note:**

> Koku plays violin. 
> 
> Paganini writes for Violin 
> 
> ∴ Listen to Caprice no. 4 
> 
> Logic.


End file.
